Their journey will cover 2.200 km in 18 to 19 days, through France, over the Swiss Alps, down into Italy, and across the Adriatic to Albania, before finally reaching in Prishtina around twentysix September.. Hasan hopes his wife, daughter, son and the rest of the family will meet him there, at our childhood home, to celebrate our father’s life and raise awareness for pancreatic cancer. Pancreatic cancer is one of the deadliest diseases, with survival rates barely improved in fifty years. Vague symptoms and the lack of screening make it brutally difficult to detect. Pancreatic Cancer UK is investing in research and providing vital support to families. Hasan’s ride is part of that fight.
My name is Eki Rrahmani. I am a filmmaker and producer, and I work for Al Jazeera English.
This article is not about me, but about my little brother.
In 1999, during the dark days of the Kosovo war, I was a student at the Surrey Institute of Art & Design in the UK.
The joy of studying at one of Britain’s top film schools was abruptly cut short by the horrid news coming from home.
One of the hardest moments came in early April, when the entire population of Prishtina was forced from their homes at gunpoint.
Thousands were made to march to the city stadium, then to the railway station, where they spent a night literally on the tracks before being herded onto trains. The images were chilling, reminiscent of the Nazis deporting Jews to extermination camps. My family, along with tens of thousands of others, ended up at Blace, the notorious border crossing with Macedonia, where more than 65.000 people were stranded in no man’s land.
For 11 days, I lost all contact with my family.
I could barely function in the UK; all I wanted was to turn back time, to be with them – even if it meant dying with them.
When they finally made it across to safety in Gostivar, Northern Macedonia, a cousin called to say they had been taken in by a local Albanian family. Soon after, I spoke to them. Everyone was too traumatised to speak, except my 12-year-old little brother Hasan, or Cani as we call him.
He told me, in painful detail, how they were kicked out by paramilitaries in balaclavas, stripped of their savings, jewellery, even their identity cards and passports – an act that meant to say: You will never return home.
His words shattered me.
To ease the refugee crisis, the UK and other European countries agreed to resettle thousands of stranded refugees.
And that’s how my family ended up in Britain, flown in by Her Majesty’s Government.
I often used to tease my family members by calling them “Posh refugees.”
The hospitality of ordinary British people was unforgettable, something I wish could be extended today to others fleeing war.
Still, life after the trauma of the war was hard. My father struggled yet he never gave up.
In Hasan’s words: “My dad shielded us, especially me. I was just 12 years old at the time, the youngest of four boys. He did his best to keep me from the war, bombing and fear that surrounded us. He became this superhuman to me, hiding all the awful realities that were happening and trying to make everything easier for us, as our entire life was uprooted.”
And while the adjustment in the new country wasn’t easy, Hasan thrived. From the start, he absorbed everything: festivals, theatre, music, art – even Josef Nadj’s mime. He reminded me of the greedy little sheep from the children’s book, my son’s favourite – Marvin Wanted More.
Hasan always wanted more, hungry to experience the world.
That energy helped convince my parents to settle in the UK.
It became a point of pride when Hasan, who had arrived to UK without knowing a single word of English, didn’t lose a year, and managed to graduate from university alongside his peers.
Life was good, until December 2019, when tragedy struck. Our father died of pancreatic cancer, just four weeks after diagnosis. We were devastated. Four brothers, talking to each other as the friends we are, yet powerless: if the family of Steve Jobs couldn’t save him, what hope did we have? But hope, as we say, dies last, and we never gave up.
And eventually, when our father died, my little brother Cani couldn’t let it go. Something had to be done.
Sorry brother for saying this publicly, but my little brother was a man whose only exercise before this took place in a pub – walking from his table to the bar and back. And yet, last year he began cycling – seriously, relentlessly.” A few months ago, in honour of our father, he announced that he would ride from Hendon, where Dad had lived, to Prishtina, where he is buried.
He wanted to thank the British people who had once sheltered us, to show that Albanians do not forget. And he wanted, with whatever little he could raise, to help fight the disease that took our father.
Endorsed by Pancreatic Cancer UK, Hasan set off on 7 September with his neighbour and cycling partner, Gary Lloyd and a support team:
second brother Mentor, and my university friend, Jake Corbett, are driving the camper, while third brother Fatoni is their cook.
Their journey will cover 2.200 km in 18 to 19 days, through France, over the Swiss Alps, down into Italy, and across the Adriatic to Albania, before finally reaching Prishtina around twentysix September.. Hasan hopes his wife, daughter, son and the rest of the family will meet him there, at our childhood home, to celebrate our father’s life and raise awareness for pancreatic cancer.
Pancreatic cancer is one of the deadliest diseases, with survival rates barely improved in 50 years. Vague symptoms and the lack of screening make it brutally difficult to detect. Pancreatic Cancer UK is investing in research and providing vital support to families.
Hasan’s ride is part of that fight.
On top of that, in today’s England, where St George’s flags are flown from windows, where Nigel Farage’s right wing Reform Party rides high in the polls, and where the mood often turns against refugees – it is remarkable, and necessary, to see and hear a positive refugee story. A story of gratitude, generosity, and a refugee’s son who chooses to give back. Kerry Thomas, Head of Public Fundraising at Pancreatic Cancer UK, said: “We are incredibly grateful that Hasan is supporting us by taking on this very personal journey, to the home he was forced to leave all those years ago. We wish him the very best of luck. Tragically, like Emin, 80% of people with pancreatic cancer are not diagnosed until after the disease has spread and lifesaving treatment is no longer possible. For 50 years, pancreatic cancer has been overlooked, underfunded, and left behind. Families are often left with only hope to hold on to, but they deserve more than hope. The funds raised by Hasan will help us offer support to people affected by the disease, invest in vital research to help us see the breakthroughs we urgently need, and be a voice for everyone impacted by the deadliest common cancer.”
For me, as a big brother watching from afar, this cause also carries something profoundly personal. Our father always admired charitable people and especially the generosity of the British.
He would often say: “God will always protect the charitable people.” Those words are now engraved on his tombstone in Prishtina.
Hasan, my little brother, has made us all proud.
Now it’s time for us to support him – to help him reach his goal of raising £10,000 for Pancreatic Cancer UK. If you would like to support Hasan, you can do so here by clicking on his fundraising page.
Thank you, Hasan, for reminding us how good it is to be kind, to be charitable, and above all, to be human.
Your big brother is watching you – with pride, and in awe.
Eki Rrahmani
